


I'm Not Alone

by nfra3711



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 05:26:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1457299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nfra3711/pseuds/nfra3711
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zombie Apocalypse AU. Shiraishi and Yukimura teamed up after losing their respective team members.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not Alone

Yukimura panted. It felt as if there was a huge boulder that was stuck in his throat, disallowing any words or complains, or any sound at all from coming out from his mouth. His lungs felt crippled he could barely breath. His eyes were wide open, dry tears stung, though he couldn’t care less. This wasn’t happening. This could _not_ be happening.

He felt, no, he could have sworn that it happened before he even could blink. There was only blank, plain white and nothing, every time he tried to reconcile his memories, of anything of what just happened. He couldn’t remember, didn’t want to remember. It was as if his entire being, his entire self and identity were slowly dissipating away from his physique. Never for once he felt this way, so empty, so hollow, not even when his whole being was covered in dirt and dark blood, not even when he had dead bodies lying on the ground just below where he was getting a good night’s sleep, not even when his companions passed on terrifyingly one by one—

_‘Yukimura’_

His body jolted. He wasn’t sure if he was expecting any sound, let alone one that was calling him, _reaching out_ to him. It dragged, forced his attention back to what it seemed to be the reality, even if he would have preferred to stay at wherever his mind had chosen to drift. He looked forward, or what he believed to be forward. Bodies. Dead bodies. The unpleasant hue of their skin and the inimical scent that rubbed off in the air everywhere were enough proof that they weren’t just bodies, weren’t _human_ bodies. 

Zombies.

Aah, right. That was his work, one that was well done at that. He wasn’t, by all means, a naturally gifted fighter. He had to climb his way up through challenges and difficulties to get to where he was now. But everything, every single moment and second spent dedicated to nothing but to become stronger, to become better, it was all worth it. He was surviving. He was fighting, living. There was no such thing as an undead, merely dull, barren moving creatures that could get the best of him. And he was perfectly fine with that, to survive, even if that meant he had to continue living on his own, alone, even if that meant he had to watch everyone, everyone he knew slowly losing their minds, their human sanity as they became one of _them_. Even if—

_“Yukimura”_

This time he shifted his eyes down, towards his own lap. He wasn’t sure, couldn’t remember why he was down on both his knees. He was the victorious, the winner, as he always was, and yet why was he in such a disgraceful display?

There was a figure lying against his lap, a person, a man. His skin wasn’t the brightest Yukimura thought he had ever seen it, no, it wasn’t even the same tone. There was a mucky tint on the shades of his skin, his skin that used to be perfect, even when covered in dirt, even when covered in blood. His eyes were narrow, blank and dull, almost lifeless. Though Yukimura couldn’t complain when he knew his own probably looked the same.

Yukimura moved his hand, probably the very first move he had made during the last couple of minutes or so, towards the man’s cheek, pushing a few of his damp hair strands out of his beautiful frame. He was always beautiful, and still was.

“I’m sorry,” somehow, Yukimura managed to regain barely enough willpower to say something, even if it didn’t come out as anything more than a careless whisper. _“I’m sorry….”_

“You did the right thing.” The man replied, his hand moved against Yukimura’s, grazing over the back of his palm, his fingers desperately trying to clutch onto it, onto anything.

Yukimura didn’t waste any chance to take it for granted. He grabbed his hand, holding it tight as he pulled it up to land a kiss against his fingers, uncaring if they, just like the rest of the man’s body, were starting to reek, to rot.

“I didn’t mean to,” he gripped on the other’s hand harder, practically clinging into it. “I swear on my life I didn’t mean to—“

“Yukimura, I know.” The hush that came following the short sentence was barely audible, but even so, Yukimura had not enough strength to protest. “I know.”

“Shiraishi…”

“I got careless,” he closed his eyes, and it was enough to almost give Yukimura a heart attack. “To think they used to call me their _perfect_ leader.”

Shiraishi laughed, a laugh that was so bitter it was in plain view that he was doing nothing but pitying himself. Under normal circumstances Yukimura would never accept such lowly behaviour, but only this time he found himself completely clueless, had no idea of what he was supposed to do or say, or react.

“ _They_ ’ll be rolling in their graves.”

“N-no!”

Yukimura had forgotten, of how much he had ignored of all the gruesome possibilities. They had agreed to separate ways, Shiraishi and he, each with a small team of no more than eight, a couple of months ago. They thought it would be the most efficient way to hide from the continuously incoming attack of the undead, and they would have a lot more time and space to prepare themselves in case such an assault was to happen. They had no mean to communicate with each other, as such, they were only equipped with none other than their faith towards each other. Shiraishi was a man that strived for nothing but perfection, Yukimura had thought, he was surely to lead him and his team members to the road of survival. Yukimura himself wasn’t at all too shabby, as he also had a handful of people each with distinct skillsets that had proved to be useful. They were confident that they would go through this, and reach the finish line alive, all of them.

But there they were, less than half a year after. Each ripped off their friends and companions, each stripped of all of their remaining security, each _alone_. Yukimura wasn’t sure how everything happened, how he managed to lose every single soul of those whom he trusted, who trusted _him_ , in a couple blinks of the eye.

So when he stumbled into Shiraishi a few weeks ago, Yukimura was nothing but a bundle of joy. He wasn’t alone, he didn’t have to go through this hell on his own, he was _relieved_.

\--

Just a few days ago, they had promised each other, that no matter what they both would make it through, together.

 

Just a few days ago, they had promised each other, that none would leave the other behind, they were to stick together, side by side, no matter the circumstances.

 

Just a few days ago, they had promised each other, that if one was to fall to be a victim of the undead, then the other would finish him off by his own hands—

 

“You really don’t have any confidence in your own abilities, do you?” Yukimura had asked, sceptical about the last bit of their seemingly endless promises.

Shiraishi just chuckled, before taking Yukimura’s hand, fingers slender against the other’s, and planted a small kiss against it. “I would hate to hurt you, even in my death.”

“You’re not going to hurt me, or anyone.” Yukimura bit a response, ending the remark with a tiny scoff. “We’re going to survive, remember?”

The other formed a smile, which did nothing but confuse Yukimura slightly more, but the latter didn’t complain when he was pulled into a gentle hug, Shiraishi’s chin landing cautiously against Yukimura’s shoulder. “What comes after surviving?”

Yukimura blinked. It had just came to his attention that he never really thought of it. Everything in his mind was that he had to live, he had to fight for it, for his freedom. But never for once it crossed his mind what would happen next.

“I don’t know,” he sighed, attempting to sound smart seemed to be a futility at this given point. “We’ll think about that later.”

“You don’t dream much, do you?”

“Well clearly, you do too much.”

“That might be true.” Shiraishi laughed, and Yukimura was about to protest a little further, but decided against as he watched the other giggle. In the end, he couldn’t help but crack a small smile, either. Shiraishi was one weird man, but Yukimura wouldn’t mind to get to know him just a little better.

“Actually, I’ve been thinking.” Shiraishi shifted in his place, his breath soft and pleasant grazing against Yukimura’s neck.

“Hm?”  

“No, it’s just..” He laughed once more, and Yukimura just blinked, waiting for him to continue. “I just thought I would…hate it, if I had to be far from you, after this, um, whatever this is, ended, uh..”

“You’re aware that you’re making zero sense?”

“Am I? I mean, I am, I know, I’m bad at this, um.” He shifted again, obvious hints of discomfort, and Yukimura couldn’t really pinpoint the reason.

“I mean, we’re in this…together, if you know what I mean, and well…” He scratched the back of his head, looking away, anywhere that wasn’t straight into Yukimura’s gaze, which he was slowly failing at. The one avoided however, for the better or for the worse, wasn’t all that ignorant to not understand where the other was getting at.

“Are you proposing to me?”  

“What?!” Yukimura could practically hear Shiraishi’s heart skipping a beat, and how he almost jumped up to his feet in one go. His arms that were lazily slouching around his body were now tense, trembling, and Yukimura couldn’t hold back his silent giggle. Boy, was he adorable.

“N-no, no!” Shiraishi gasped, “No, no, no! Of course not! I was just—“

“Oh?” Yukimura looked up at him, an evil glint appearing in his eyes and a smirk autonomously surfacing across his face. Seeing the other man’s face flushing into a deeper shade of red every second couldn’t be any more amusing. “That’s too bad. I was going to say yes.”

Shiraishi stared at him, and Yukimura stared back, the smirk slowly turning into a smile.

“You technically just proposed to _me_.”

Yukimura laughed as he threw himself against the other, who in return, just pouted, though returning the hug no less affectionately. “So that counts as a promise?”

Shiraishi smiled, before kissing his now lover’s forehead. “It’s a promise.”

\--

Just a few days ago, they had promised each other a happy ending.

There was nothing but red in Yukimura’s vision. Not the ground or his hands, or the clothes that he was wearing, everything was red. It was blood, blood that wasn’t his.

Shiraishi’s eyes were then closed, his fingers had stopped their desperate clutching, his hand was no longer holding onto Yukimura. His body was still and there was nothing but silence that came out from his lips, those that were now dry and cold.

Now he was nothing but another one to stack into the pile of rotting bodies. Soon he would decay, his beautiful face and form would then decline, and before Yukimura could even realize it, he would be undistinguishable.

He gripped unto the body in his arms. There were no further attempts to wake him up. No more of his name escaping his mouth. There was nothing. Yukimura could not cry, could not shout. At this point he probably could not even stand.

His time had stopped there, stopped the moment their promises broke. There was no future, much less a happy ending.

 

Because he was, once again, alone on his own.

 


End file.
